


In the Shadows

by glitterfordays



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Coma, F/M, Hospitals, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:18:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterfordays/pseuds/glitterfordays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The liquid poison always seemed to make him more upset than he was before consuming it, though the darkness inside fed on the liquor as if it were constantly starving, its arms ravenously stretched out relentlessly. The aging Roy Mustang rose from his position on his couch, the consoling hands disappearing from him, and reached for his telephone. He petulantly let out a sigh, followed by, “Yes.” At night he always answered this way, for he wanted nothing more than the shortest conversation possible; the man wanted to be left with his thoughts and drink.  “Yes, Mr. Roy Mustang? This is the nurse from Central Hospital. I am sorry to call at such an untimely hour, but I need to speak with you for a moment if you are able.” The sound emitted from his phone was surprising to say the least; the hospital hadn’t called him in weeks. He immediately felt embarrassed for the way he answered the telephone, especially considering what had happened a few weeks ago. His face grew hot red as he managed to answer, “Yes, of course. Is something wrong?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Hola! I do not own FMA, but this work comes from my own imagination. Please enjoy! I had to do a Royai fanfic that involved flowers, a hospital setting, and Riza being injured. It's a little long, my apologies! Regardless, I still hope you enjoy it and thanks so much for reading! :3  
> Also- please note: there's no rating here, but there is cursing and also heavy drinking/alcoholism is implied (at the beginning).

The foul stench of whiskey filled his smoky lungs. The lukewarm swig flooded through his throat, stinging as it went down. The painful memories flooded his brain, and not even liquor could cleanse him of them. The man held back tears from countless years, countless experiences he’d rather forget. He could feel arms lace over his broad, covered shoulders; they were warm, familiar. Like those he had fabricated back then. They imaginarily consoled him in the Ishbalan darkness he endured years back. That felt so long ago, yet the memories were as clear as day every time he closed his eyes. Smoke billowing from an ashtray smothered the dark, musty room around him; it gradually seeped into his coal black shirt and cobalt blue slacks as he sat. Lonely he felt. He was empty inside. Nothing but a military pawn used for annihilation, he thought to himself. Once the glass was empty, he forcefully placed it down with a clink by his bottle and loaded gun and glanced at his bare hands. His hands were stained to the point no amount of soap and water could erase the mistakes of his; he knew he could never truly wash his hands of his past. But his future. What would become of him? The arms still lingered, with each thumb tenderly stroking his arms. The man teetered on a double edged sword; he could succumb to the darkness in him or press on, pretending to be the distinguished leader everyone thought they knew. Both were detrimental, he knew deep down. This darkness circulating in his body had been growing over the years, slowly building up with subtly. Only Riza Hawkeye and Maes Hughes were able to visibly see the toll it was taking on their superior and, despite numerous interventions, both could not save the man. He didn’t recall when it began exactly, but over time he resorted to spending his nights with bottles of liquor, his couch, and, occasionally, the petty, drunk woman who followed him home from the bar. Even though he was a proclaimed ladies man, he only entertained these women in futile attempts to distract him from reality; they made it worse. The sparkling, confident raven eyes this military hero once had were long gone, only replaced by hollow, dull black stones. He carefully looked over the shiny loaded handgun beside his bottle; the light made it twinkle temptingly in the dimness. He remembered using his hands to inflict pain and death on innocent casualties that stood in the way of the military; his hands since then had been controlled by animal-like instincts and were flighty. Many nights he had considered passing through the world the same way he had ushered so many through with his alchemy and gun. “I should just end all this,” he confessed. He didn’t know if it was his imagination running rampant or not, but he swore at that moment he felt the arms grip tighter to him, and then the invisible fingers began to intertwine in his own shaking fingers. It momentarily paralyzed him, being pulled into the soft embrace of these arms. The sound of his telephone snapped the military man out of his puddle of thoughts.  
  
“It must be pretty damn important if they’re calling this late and on my night off,” he scoffed. The liquid poison always seemed to make him more upset than he was before consuming it, though the darkness inside fed on the liquor as if it were constantly starving, its arms ravenously stretched out relentlessly. The aging Roy Mustang rose from his position on his couch, the consoling hands disappearing from him, and reached for his telephone. He petulantly let out a sigh, followed by, “Yes.” At night he always answered this way, for he wanted nothing more than the shortest conversation possible; the man wanted to be left with his thoughts and drink. “Yes, Mr. Roy Mustang? This is the nurse from Central Hospital. I am sorry to call at such an untimely hour, but I need to speak with you for a moment if you are able.” The sound emitted from his phone was surprising to say the least; the hospital hadn’t called him in weeks. He immediately felt embarrassed for the way he answered the telephone, especially considering what had happened a few weeks ago. His face grew hot red as he managed to answer, “Yes, of course. Is something wrong? Do I need to be there in person?” His demeanor had flipped like a switch; he desperately wanted to improve his standing with this nurse and the hospital. As he waited for the nurse to respond, the man anticipated her words and slipped his black patent leather work shoes on. “Um, I don’t mean to be disrespectful Mr. Mustang, sir, but maybe it is best if we first speak on the telephone. I was calling in regards to Riza Hawkeye.” Like a disappointed young child, the dull-eyed man used the callous toes on his right foot to pull off his left shoe and plopped down on his couch. “Ah, yes. I understand miss. Is she alright? Please tell me all you can,” he pleaded frantically, yearning for any and every detail this woman could reveal. “Since you last saw Miss Hawkeye… Well…She hasn’t improved sir. I am calling you against the requests of the hospital and your friend Mr. Hughes,” she confessed. The nurse continued in an urgent whisper, her right hand cupping the bottom of the phone, “But, sir, you must understand why I have contacted you. I truly believe that if you come visit her again, her condition will improve. I don’t know why I have this intuition, but I know that it couldn’t make things worse.” He took no time to respond. “But I did, three weeks ago. I don’t know what came over me,” he admitted. In the same breath he added, “But I’ve wanted to see her so badly since then. Please. I will do anything miss. I just want to see her again. I don’t know if I will be of any help, but I must see her.” He had now only revealed his desire for his subordinate to this nurse he hardly knew and to Maes Hughes, his best friend. “Sir, I will be here for the night shift again tomorrow if you would like to sneak in then. But you must keep this between us-completely confidential. No one can know. I cannot lose my job over this Mr. Mustang,” she asserted. He nodded, somehow thinking she was able to see his action. “Yes, understood miss. I will be there tomorrow around midnight and won’t cause you any trouble for this. You do not know how thankful I am you called. I will be there then. Thank you,” he said as they parted. The telephone was placed back on its receiver with cautiousness. He exhaled audibly and put his left callous hand over his broken, quivering face. More than anything he wanted another drink. His dark, empty eyes peered from between his fingers, eyeing the almost empty bottle sitting on his coffee table beside the loaded gun. “Such a coward I am, for acting like I do.” Rage filled his voice, bellowing, “I can’t even face my own demons.” As the last few words faded from the room, the hands resumed their place across Roy Mustang. The depressed man began pouring the last glass of his whiskey, but stopped pouring when he recalled again that his gun was loaded. The arms held him now, almost in a motherly way. “It’s like you’re really trying to stop me. Well, you win tonight shadow,” he said desolately to his empty living room. He retreated dejectedly to his bedroom, leaving the whiskey unfinished just as the shadow had wanted him to.  
  
  
The morning woke him, causing the stubborn man to toss his covers carelessly over his scrunched face. “I hate mornings,” he complained to his sunny room. “I hate Sunday. Tomorrow is Monday, and I’d rather just stay here,” he droned on. Ever since the darkness had made a home inside him, he wasn’t very motivated like he was in the past; nothing seemed to satisfy him anymore. No matter how many women he had, no matter how much he had to drink, no matter how much praise he had received over the years from his superiors… nothing was enough. He felt worthless, though he would never inform anyone of it. As he immaturely hid under the covers, a knock on the door interrupted him from trying to fall back asleep. “Seriously, no one leaves me be,” he mumbled through his white cotton sheets. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he hollered as he shoved his shirt’s neck and sleeves on over his head. “Yes?” he groggily questioned as he opened the door. “Well hello Beautiful! Bright eyed and bushy tailed as always, I see,” Maes Hughes merrily teased as he leisurely made his way past the man. The cheery man halted abruptly, noting the whiskey bottle still on the table beside the gun. “Roy,” he said. “Roy,” his voice hoarsened. “What the hell is this? I leave you alone one day.” His eyes shifted flamingly to the drowsy boy behind him. The alchemist had all but tried to erase last night’s thoughts, but they rushed back involuntarily. “Calm down. It’s not like I was going to do anything,” he argued. “Like hell you wouldn’t,” Maes snapped. “Riza and I should have forced you to get help.” He paused his sentence with a sigh, trying to sort out his thoughts. “We should have tried harder.” He stood silently, his head hanging in shame and remorse. Roy didn’t have to see his friend’s face to know the look it had plastered across it. It caused Mustang shame as well, for he knew he lacked the courage to stop such harmful behavior. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Maes. It’s like I can’t control myself anymore. All the shit I’ve done. I killed people, people who didn’t deserve to die. I can’t shut that out of my mind. I can’t forget it. And I hurt you. I hurt Hawkeye. And I made an ass out of myself back at the hospital. I just wanted to see her. God. I can’t live without her. I can’t live another day thinking I can’t see her. Another day goes by, and I wonder if she’s going to make it. It’s all because of me. I’m only here until she passes through this world. If she dies, I will follow her. I can’t forgive myself for what has happened. To all those innocent people and to…Riza. I don’t know anymore, Maes. I just don’t,” he declared. “I just don’t…” he trailed. “And yourself,” Hughes added with sincerity. “You’ve hurt yourself just as badly. Even though you can’t see it, you’ve all but killed yourself Roy. I think that’s what has hurt Riza the most. And that’s what’s hurt me too. You’ve always brushed things off and moved on, but you have internalized it all. Every painful memory is strapped to your back. You carry such a heavy burden Roy, and you don’t unload any of it. You just keep packing it in, and it’s about to explode in your face. Honestly, I think it already has. You can’t let it get any worse. I’m here for you, you know that. I wish you’d just take me up on that once in a while. I’m your friend. That’s what I am. A Fuh-ren-duh. You know that right?” He nodded humbly. “Just checking,” he said with a wink and a pat on his superior’s back. “We have to get you back to normal, whatever that is,” he sneered with a kind smile. In the same breath he continued, “so you can be inaugurated. They sure do take their sweet time with those things, don’t they?” He cheekily mused. “You know, Maes…I don’t know if I even want it anymore. I’m so close…yet so far. I don’t even feel like it’s worth it,” Roy grimaced. The man in front of him snapped.  
  
“Don’t talk like that you hard ass. For you to give up so childishly just to wallow in self pity... You would really quit after all the hard work Riza, I, Havo, Fuery, and the rest of the gang, and even the Elrics, have put in to get you where you are today? You’re willing to just walk away from all of that like it’s nothing? That’s not the Roy I used to know,” Hughes chided angrily. “You fought for this position, and WE fought like hell to get you up here. You’re not going to give it away,” he growled harshly. “I won’t let you. And neither would Riza. You are deserving of this title, finally. No one could do a better job. So stop being selfish like you’re five years old again and step up,” he continued. Hughes added, “And I’m not stroking your ego, so don’t think I am. I just know you’re the man for the position.”  
  
Roy Mustang, the soon-to-be Fuhrer had no response for he was silently absorbing his friend’s words like a dry sponge; Hughes knew this was what the man was doing, so he shifted his focus to a collection of framed photos running along the shiny wood mantle atop Roy Mustang’s fireplace. The frames were mismatched, some small but others larger. There was an old grey-framed, black and white photograph of a young Roy Mustang standing beside Mr. Hawkeye; Roy’s eyes appeared distant in the photo, assumingly dreaming of the bright future ahead of him. A little farther down the mantle sat a picture of Edward Elric beside the Colonel Mustang; it was about seven years old, back when Edward was on his journey of restoring what was lost. Edward had a smug look on his face as he tried to reach above Roy’s back to put a peace sign behind his head, while Roy stood proudly beside him, arms crossed and a cocky smile taking up his entire face. Maes gave a silent chuckle, fondly recalling the special camaraderie between the two overconfident men.  
  
A smaller photo, one that seemed to be cherished due to its elegant shining black frame, was that of Riza Hawkeye and Roy Mustang from a few years ago. It was the last picture taken of them when they were Lieutenant and Colonel, respectively. It was at a party Maes clearly remembered; he had held a “promotion party” at his home for the two of them, for they finally moved up in the ranks and up the ladder to the Fuhrership. It appeared that Riza had just approached Roy, a beaming smile covered her face as she touched Mustang’s lower shoulder. Even in the photo it was evident the military hero’s eyes were glistening and glued to his subordinate as he returned a smile to her. Roy used any excuse to wear a tuxedo, so he was donning his favorite satin black jacket over his slacks. Riza looked to be a queen; her satin, floor-length, jewel-toned purple dress hugged her fit body, and her thick golden hair flowed seductively down her shoulders. Maes' focused eyes trailed at another picture beside it. This one revealed a rare, candid moment of a young group of new military recruits; both Maes Hughes and Roy Mustang had significantly shorter black hair with tight, white cotton shirts on and just engraved, shiny silver dog tags hanging over their chests. Miss Riza Hawkeye had on a looser fitting white shirt, her hair almost as short as her fellow men. The image captured Maes Hughes with his scrawny arm draped over the young Roy Mustang’s adolescent shoulders. Miss Riza Hawkeye was standing beside them, a giggle coming across her youthful face as she looked happily at them. “This is my favorite picture,” he admitted, his finger tapping the glass that contained the picture from their youth. The family man brushed his soft fingers across its glossy frame. “Ha,” he chuckled audibly. “Wow, just look at us. Riza certainly has aged gracefully. I just keep looking younger and younger,” Maes taunted. “You though, you’re just getting plain old.” “Ha. Ha,” Roy mocked back. Maes changed the topic, trying to ease the heavy mood hanging over the room, “Hurry up and get a kid so Elicia has a playmate.” The comment caught the future Fuhrer off guard. “Well then why don’t you just have another kid, Maes? I’m busy enough as it is,” Roy contested. “Mm, no can do Roy-boy. Oh, before I forget, Fuhrer,” he paused after the title, trying to restrain his giggle. “Who is being the childish one now? Just come out with it Hughes,” Roy berated. “Since I’m watching over Riza’s place while she’s gone, I found a small little package wrapped up on her desk. It was addressed to you, Roy,” he spoke gently. “Oh, and Hayate is getting much too needy for me. Elicia adores him but he clearly needs someone to take care of him like Riza has. You wanna take him?” The alchemist was more focused on the package at that moment than Hayate. “Of course, just bring him over when you can. I will take care of him for her,” he affirmed without hesitation. “Now what about this package?” Roy inquired. “Well, I think she was going to give it to you for your birthday, but you never really can get into the mind of Riza Hawkeye,” he confessed with a grin.  
  
Roy’s piercing eyes stared into his wood floor, tears surfacing around his eyes. A sturdy hand was placed over his right shoulder. “Hey. You know what? I’m thinking that Riza would want you to watch over her house while we’re waiting for her. What do you think? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind us tag-teaming like this,” Maes Hughes suggested to his dejected superior. “And plus, it would keep Hayate in a familiar place. Of course she’d want that,” Roy contributed with a weak smile. “Adda boy! I bet she wouldn’t mind if you opened that gift too. But if she gets mad, you’re on your own,” Maes defended. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I get up on that podium next month without her,” he whispered. “As the years passed, I realized that I would never be able to fulfill the job of Fuhrer without her. It’s like she was going to be Fuhrer too when I made it. She would command beside me, be my companion,” he drifted. Maes could see small water droplets scatter off the concerned man’s lowered face. “Hey, hey Roy. Don’t think that way. She will get better…we just have to give it some time. You got the best doctor in Amestris to treat her.” The alchemist pushed the hand off his shoulder in anger, “But that’s not enough! It’s never enough.” He lamented, speaking her first name aloud, “it’s Riza. The one I was supposed to have with me at the top. The one I was going to marry once I became Fuhrer. When I could call the shots so no one could question our marriage. It’s not fair Hughes… it’s not fair,” his voice was muffled as the taller man held his friend in his arms.  
“Do you think she loved me?” he childishly prodded. “Of course Roy. She still loves you,” Maes consoled.  
“I’m sorry you can’t go see her at the hospital,” he apologized, “but the way you blew up a few weeks ago…I think that did more harm than good. I don’t know what got into you, but you can’t do that again in public.” Roy’s mind wandered, recalling that day at the hospital he went out of control. It was the day after Riza had been admitted to the hospital. Roy didn’t know whether it was his fatigue or his emotions, but he exploded at the doctors and nurses that morning. They would not divulge details of Riza’s condition to him, always distracting him by saying, “We are doing the best we can.” Roy was impatient, especially with this situation. It angered him. Infuriated him. He wanted answers now. Waiting felt like a torturous game played by the enemy. When a nurse told him he needed to go home, he took his anger out on her. The aged alchemist hollered words he’d rather forget and flew out of Riza’s room, demanding to speak to someone other than the adolescent nurse. It only got worse from there, resulting in Hughes and Fuery forcibly pulling their new Fuhrer out of the main doors and took him home. “You’re such a hard ass,” he recalled Hughes scolding in the car.   
  
His friend pulled him back to reality, “Roy.” “Roy. It’s ok. You were just emotionally unstable. And you still are,” Maes spoke like a parent to his naive child. “I know. But I just…miss her so much. I can’t take it,” Roy snarled. “If you need me, I’m always here. You gotta take me up on my offer once in a while. I’m getting impatient,” Hughes said with a wink and his trademark smirk. “Here’s Riza’s keys. No alcohol or liquor, or cigarettes, in her house Roy,” he sternly spoke. “I don’t know why you even started THAT habit,” he droned with unabashed irritation. “She’ll make you stop if you want to keep her, Roy. We BOTH know that,” he urged. Roy had known Riza’s conditions all along, even though she never spoke them. He remembered Riza’s father well; he would drink madly at night after Roy’s lessons and smoke heavily lingered in the Hawkeye family’s basement. The look on Riza’s face was always evident to Roy when she saw alcohol or cigarettes. Havoc had learned to stop smoking in Riza’s presence just to avoid her hazed and forlorn glances at his cigarette. Roy Mustang held his hand out for the keys and smiled; it felt like being allowed in a place he was never given permission to enter. “You know, you are still such a child,” Hughes commented, partially joking. “Huh?” Roy asked, confused at the statement. Hughes brushed it off and said, “Oh, nothing. Now go! I can tell that’s been your focus ever since I mentioned it.” They both walked out the alchemist’s house together, Mustang’s left hand patting his best friend’s back in contentment. As he locked his own door, he wanted to push Maes into answering one question he had left on his mind. “Maes…how is Riza really doing? Is she getting better?” He had to hear what the man would tell him. “Getting there,” Hughes smiled to hide his lie. He had to shelter his friend from the truth so he wouldn’t lose himself even more in the darkness that surrounded him. Roy knew the real truth, thanks to the nurse but wasn’t going to let Maes Hughes know what he knew. He had to keep this one secret. “I see,” Roy whispered as he yanked his key out of the lock. The alchemist turned to his subordinate, giving him a brotherly hug. “Thanks, Hughes,” he said, “for everything.” Hughes closed his eyes as they embraced. “She’ll get better. And you better become Fuhrer or I’ll just have to take your place,” Hughes joked. They each got in their cars as they parted ways.

 

The key fit the lock Riza Hawkeye’s house. Roy Mustang didn’t know what to expect as he pushed the door open. The darkness that loomed over his entire body followed him loyally to her door; it hovered, breathing down the neck of Roy Mustang. It caused him to shudder inside, for even he could feel its presence now. Hayate greeted him eagerly, at the door, the loyal dog leaping toward his master’s superior. “That damned Hughes planned this all along,” he smirked as he knelt down to rub Black Hayate. “I’ll be sure to call him later,” he told the panting dog as if he were going to remind him. The darkness seemed to be completely shut out from this house; it was not welcome here. The darkness slipped off Roy Mustang like a coat; his soul felt uplifted and lighter than it had been in so many years. The alchemist’s heart felt lightweight and pure; Riza’s house made him never want to leave. It was as if the very aura of Riza’s protection warded the darkness away from his soul. The need to drink, to bring nameless women home- to smoke- all washed away somehow. The man’s coal eyes surveyed the house before him. Spotless, dark brown wood floor; barren, shiny cream colored walls; a plain wood table with four matching, empty chairs; a messily folded newspaper laying on the table, dated the day Riza entered the hospital; a soft, light brown couch with a small pink blanket neatly folded on the right; a kitchen to his far left, visibly plain but contained an arsenal of kitchen supplies that any chef could ever dream of in its cabinets; a grey specked marble countertop supported very few items on its surface, just a kitchen knife set, some unopened and read mail separated into stacks; to his far right was the bedroom, he was certain, and it contained a plush, comfortable bed covered in a large, colorful, handmade quilt. The house seemed so lonely, much like his own; it caused a tingle to twist in his spine. “We could have at least been lonely together,” he repented as Hayate took his place beside the man’s leg. He exhaled a longing sigh as he looked for any photographs in the house, secretly hoping she had one of him somewhere. No trace of mementoes, photographs, even memories were to be found, that is, until he decided it was acceptable to go into her bedroom.   
  
As his footsteps entered the threshold, there he saw on her vanity a compilation of her life; photos and photos were placed neatly on its surface. He even saw a few items scattered in place as well. The alchemist twitched, feeling as if he was seeing something only viewed by the eyes of Riza. Roy Mustang couldn’t pull himself away as he gravitated towards it, desperate to know more about Riza and the memories she decided to save. He delicately pulled her vanity seat out to sit. Its soft purple cushion felt soft, even if he was still wearing slacks. The shiny white wood vanity supported a large round mirror, pictures tucked securely in its edges. He blushed imagining the woman brushing her hair every morning in this place, her hair clip being clasped as she got ready for the long day ahead. At the top of the mirror was a photo with an unrecognizable figure that vaguely resembled Riza. “Maybe her mother?” he questioned aloud. His callous fingers lifted up toward another picture, smiling as he identified the people. Edward Elric stood in an adult-like pose on the left side of Riza, a grinning Alphonse hugging her right side. Their gleaming smiles made Roy miss those boys, aching for them to return again soon. Wherever they were, he knew, they were helping people in need and causing unintentional havoc with each step they took. A framed picture below this one showed Winry Rockbell in front of her renovated automail shop, her arms up in pride and a smile coming across her from ear to ear; it was her pride and joy. The talented woman had ultimately become the official automail mechanic for the entire Amestrian military, thanks in part to Riza Hawkeye’s outstanding recommendation. They kept in touch and were like sisters, Roy knew. He could tell just by the framed picture of them together to his left. It was a recent one, with Winry’s hair much longer and Riza looking a bit more aged; they were laughing and were seated at Winry’s dining room table, surrounded by food. Ed was in the background doing something he couldn’t figure out, so Roy assumed Al had taken the picture, though it was a little blurry. To Roy’s extreme surprise, Riza had saved a few photos similar to the one’s on his own mantle. “She didn’t possibly save those…” he whispered to himself.   
  
On the left side of the mirror hung a smaller photo, another shot of the young military recruits together taken right as his own photo. This time Maes had his thumb and index finger squeezing around Roy’s jaws, while the young Roy looked aggravated at his friend’s antics. Riza now was gripping her stomach tightly as she attempted to repress her unreserved laughter. “It was such a different time, back then,” he audibly admitted, his tone bitter. Another similar photo to his at home was framed, with Riza smiling beside her Colonel at Maes’ house party. This was one he didn’t know had been taken, though he knew who was behind the lens; Hughes always had his way of sneaking around behind the alchemist’s back. Riza was seated in this picture, her hands laced delicately over her lap as she was relaxed in one of Maes’ large, red, plush armchairs; it looked like a throne, only befitted for a queen like Riza. Roy was beside and slightly behind her, his posture firm but he looked relaxed, appearing as a taught guard of the queen’s. His large, gloved hand rested gently on her soft, rounded shoulder. Riza looked longing up at Roy, both appearing to have fallen deep into the colored pools of each other’s eyes. Water began to surface around the ducts of Roy Mustang’s now shining eyes; how he longed to be there again, so happy and just realizing his love for the woman. The last picture and item to his right caught him off guard. There was a somewhat recent photo of Roy Mustang; it was taken as he was nearing his reign as Colonel and just before being promoted. It was one that truly exhibited his proud status; he was dressed in his best uniform, the lapels all properly aligned and his jet black hair was slicked underneath his black beret that fit perfectly, thanks to Riza. He had a small smile on that alluded pure confidence, and his eyes flashed with excitement. He scoffed at the picture, thinking it odd that Riza would have it so large and framed so nicely on her vanity.   
  
An old glove lay beside the frame, one Roy had back when he made it while being trained under Mr. Hawkeye. Somehow she was able to obtain one so long ago and managed to keep it in her possession. He was surprised and humbled, for this meant even back then she felt something for him. He was young, naïve, but even then he felt so strongly for her-connected. He knew their paths would cross even when he was unsure of everything else at that unstable point in his life. A peculiar object yanked him from his nostalgic daze; it was a shiny gold tube of bright red lipstick sitting in between the glove and frame. In all his years, the alchemist had never seen her wear red lipstick; he wondered who she wore it for and frowned. Trying to pull his thoughts away, he called for Hayate. He came sprinting toward him, his tail wagging fiercely. “Atta boy,” he coaxed as the black and white hound found his hand. “I guess I should try to get a little bit of sleep before I sneak to see your mom,” he spoke. That posed another challenge; where to sleep. He spoke aloud, trying to rationalize, “The bed…hm. It’s so…I don’t know. She’d kill me, don’t you think?” Hayate responded with an energetic bark. “Hahaha! I figured. Maybe the couch then,” Mustang decided. The man lifted his body off the seat and began to remove his dart slacks and pastel grey button up shirt; he wished Riza was helping him shed these clothes. Underneath the light shirt was something no one saw: scars and muscles. The faded scars were both physical and internal, and his muscles had, over time, begun to deteriorate. He kicked his shoes off and tossed his clothing on Riza’s bed, choosing to fold them later when he wasn’t so preoccupied. In nothing but his navy boxers, Roy dragged himself to the living room, secretly wishing he could borrow Riza’s bed, and plopped his weary body down on the couch. The man saw from his spot the package subtly placed on the desk in the room. The Flame Alchemist resisted temptation and chose to wait for Riza to give it to him. After squirming uncomfortably on her couch, he knocked the purple blanket off its spot. Growling, he told Hayate, “Don’t tell your mom, ok?” Acting like a child, he sneakily tiptoed back to Hawkeye’s bedroom, slipping silently in between her crisp, fresh sheets. “Much better,” he reassured himself. “She wouldn’t want me to be depleted of my energy,” he tried convincing the dog as much as he was himself. Roy Mustang could smell the faint scent of Riza Hawkeye; a distant scent of sweet, rural fields filled his nostrils, along with a delicate flower he could not name. It felt like home. The scent lulled him to sleep, though the absence of Riza pained him. The imaginary arms resumed their standard position around him as his eyes began to close; they felt strong, more real than before. He awoke later with a jolt, feeling nothingness around him. The wide, dark eyes searched for his partner in the shadows; she was nowhere to be found in the room. The Flame Alchemist was reminded by Hayate of the situation. His wet nose urged the man to get up and leave. His alert eyes shot to the small clock Riza had put up on the wall across from him: a little past 11:00. “I slept the whole day, Hayate,” he remarked with slight astonishment. Without words, he threw his clothes back on and ran out the door. A renewed lightness followed him out, guarding him from the darkness that had clouded him for so long.

 

He breathlessly opened the doors of the hospital, his eyes searching for the nurse he spoke with on the phone. At the main desk Roy Mustang paused, seeing a woman he swore he knew. She turned around, a sincere smile on her slightly tan face. “Mr. Mustang? I’m so glad you made it,” she said quietly. “Sheska?” He inquired. “Oh, no, sir. You have me confused with my sister! Yes, Sheska is my sister,” the girl cheerily replied. “She is quite a wonderful and well-read woman. Tell her I said hello please,” Roy requested. The woman nodded and hinted, “I need to go check on a patient down the hall. I will be busy with him for a while so I won’t be back around here for a bit, if you understand what I am saying.” The alchemist’s face flustered and nodded with anticipation. She walked away toward another corridor, and he attempted to retain some professionalism; it left him when he realized how close he was to seeing her again. _To see her again_. The rooms flashed past him as he made his way to her door. Room fourteen was it, and he stopped abruptly, almost missing it. With shaky fingers he pressed the door open, unsure of what hid behind it. The nurse appeared behind him for just a moment; she forgot to tell him something. “Sir, before you go in, please let me tell you what happened exactly. Miss Riza… Well, when she was racing behind you to cover you, the alchemist transmuted the ground into a stone wall, causing Riza to collide into it. You know all that. However, the collision knocked her unconscious and put her in a comatose state. Every time you asked, she actually wasn’t sleeping. Hughes wanted to protect you from the truth, but I think you of all people deserved to know it.” The man was internally crumbling; his mouth couldn’t even open to respond. “I’ll leave you to her now, Mr. Mustang. I promise we are doing our best to get her back,” she said, understanding how he was feeling. “You just have to trust she’ll wake up soon. She’s a fighter, and I can tell she won’t leave this world without giving it her all. Please try to talk to her and see if maybe you can help her. I think she’s just lost her way and needs someone to pull her out the darkness. Good luck, sir,” she encouraged as she left for her other patient.   
  
The room was bare and lonely, similar to her home; it didn’t surprise the Fuhrer. A small collection of flowers and pictures lined her windowsill. The Flame Alchemist was confident Hughes and his family had come to visit and certainly Winry. “I wonder if Ed and Al have heard,” he grimly pondered. He placed his black hat on the coat rack to his right and strolled to the windowsill. “Sure enough, the pipsqueak did find out,” he winced. A few alchemic sketches and note pages were scattered on a spare chair near the window. They were clearly Edward Elric’s, for he and Roy were the only ones who knew such advanced alchemy. “I hope he wasn’t going to try anything on her without asking,” he scolded to the empty room. She lied there silently on the bed. Underneath her sheer gown was a sore, purple bruise, no doubt from hitting the wall with such inertia. Clear plastic tubes penetrated her fragile pale arms; her chocolate brown eyes appeared to be forever closed; her face was expressionless. Riza’s soft, golden hair looked as if it hadn’t been combed since the morning; it had been growing out for so long that it cascaded to her breasts. Her chest faintly moved to breathe, but the alchemist was sure that was not enough to pump adequate oxygen. Roy cringed inside; she looked dead. All that was missing was the ivory roses and a crisp green flag draped precisely over a shiny charcoal casket, with Havoc and Fuery dutifully carrying it to her gravesite. Anger flooded him, though he resisted the urge to howl out in anguish. “Why her? Why?” The man choked out as he placed his heavy self onto the chair next to her bedside. "All because I had to get bigheaded during a fight," he regretfully whimpered.   
  
That tragic day the gang was in a hot pursuit against a convicted alchemist; he had escaped and Mustang’s troop was ordered to stop him by any means necessary. The group knew going in this alchemist was a dirty fighter, but it didn’t seem to register in Roy Mustang’s mind that anything would happen to Hawkeye. Her superior dashed ahead, asking her to cover his back as he went in for a final blow. As Roy snapped his fingers, the criminal smashed his hands into the ground to deal a hard blow to Riza Hawkeye with this newly constructed wall. Just as the wall went up, the man went up in smoke with Roy’s fiery inflection. In the background Roy could hear a disastrous crack, not understanding what it was until now.   
  
The man took his head and buried it deep into the bed’s sheets, it absorbing the tears produced from the Fuhrer. “It’s not fair,” he argued to the silence as he took her hand in his. The midnight silence did not console him, and neither did Riza’s icy hand. “She’s cold,” he huffed in frustration. “They should make sure she’s warm,” he sternly criticized. The alchemist barely slid his right hand’s thumb and index finger together to flood a bit of warmth to his fingertips. He stood over the bed to place the tips of his fingers to Riza’s neck, her chest, and finally held her hands. A light flush of red surfaced on the woman’s cheeks, and he determined that helped warm her frigid, motionless body. “You know, I could keep you warm a different way… without using alchemy,” he told her shamelessly. “I’m sure you’d do the same for me if you could…” he tried convincingly. A swift feeling of selfishness rushed through him, and the Fuhrer acted on it without hesitation. He removed his soft shirt and patent dress shoes, this time leaving his slacks on. The tangled mass of chords surrounding Hawkeye posed a challenge for him, though; he couldn’t lie on the bed for risk of pulling one out of her body. The patient’s door cracked, a timid Fuhrer Mustang peeking his head childishly out the door to search for the nurse. “Miss…are you there? It’s Roy… I need your help please,” he whispered as loudly as he could, hoping her ears would find his voice. “Yes, sir! I’m coming,” he could hear her response, but physically she was not present. After a few short moments she slipped in, asking, “What can I do?” She turned to him, blushing instantly at the sight of his tight ab muscles inches below her face. He pointed with embarrassment but spoke in a mature voice, “The chords. I wanted to hold her to keep her warm, but they’re too tangled for me to fix them. She’s so cold.” His words drifted away hopelessly into the night. Without another word, the nurse made quick work of the machines, tubes, and chords hooked up to the patient; Roy shuddered. Seeing the way Riza was attached to so many machines reminded him of the Chimera experiments the military had conducted some time ago; it forced him to look away. “All done, sir,” she cheerfully informed Mustang. “Oh, and there’s something I need to show you before I forget,” she remembered. “Riza…we had to clean her uniform and removed all her possessions. I found this…in the right inside breast pocket of her uniform. I don’t exactly know whether or not to give it to you, but I figured I’d at least show you.”   
  
His eyes followed her hands as they pulled out a photo from a clear bag, seeing a frayed photograph shifting hands. It was one he knew well; it was a photograph Madame Christmas had taken of him years back when he was a late teenager. Roy Mustang’s eyes were bright, glistening from the brightness in his heart. It was long before the man had been exposed to war, cruelty, death. He was grinning with his teeth showing between his lips; his hands wrapped around some clean linen sheets he had to carry into the house from the clothes line. _How did she ever get this?_ His mind searched for answers as he tenderly handed back the photo to the nurse to stash back in Riza’s belongings. “Thank you. For everything. I really owe you,” he spoke. “It’s nothing! Just try to make her better,” a troubled smile formed across her face. She left just as quietly as she came in and left Roy to tend to Hawkeye. “Hawkeye, you gotta be a little more careful on the field next time,” he tried to joke, though his words were void of emotion as his hand covered his face. “Damn it, it should have been me,” the alchemist choked as he slipped underneath her covers. “We still got him though. And he will be facing me again soon enough,” Roy informed the body. It was true, they had captured and mained the escapee, but his trial had yet to be completed. It was certain he would receive the death penalty, but Roy wanted to have a few words with him before he left this world. The man’s large hands were outstretched as he pulled the empty body towards him, carefully avoiding her bruised shoulder. “You have to come back to me…Riza. I can’t live without you,” tears streamed down his face as he whispered. Optimistically, Roy noted she was still breathing, even it if was shallow. The scarred hand of his brushed her bangs away from her bruised forehead, seeing faint wrinkle lines he didn’t know could exist on a stunning face like hers. The wall’s impact had damaged her body seriously, but surprisingly not as bad as it should have been. The patient’s right cheek had scrapes that ran from just below her eye down to her chin, some still healing while others were scarred over. “And I want to know how you got that picture. Do you keep in contact with Christmas behind my back? You sly woman,” he sincerely spoke, a smile cracking through his wet face. “You’re so much stronger than I could ever be,” the alchemist admitted as he drifted into sleep.

The morning wasn’t the picture perfect scene Roy had imagined; instead it started off with a loud door flinging open, nearly coming off its hinges. “Roy Mustang you get your ass out of here!” He could hear the berating tone in the voice of Maes Hughes before his body even appeared at the door. The familiar nurse was following anxiously behind, almost in a hastened run. “Sir, please! This is not good for Miss Hawkeye,” she pleaded at the door. Maes was clearly livid, his trademark silver glasses slipping down his burning nose. “You never listen do you? You weren’t supposed to see her like this. I was waiting until her bruises healed and scars faded before-” He was interjected by his friend. “So I had to wait until it was too late? Until her body turned to ash? Is that what you’re getting at Hughes? I sure as hell didn’t deserve to be left out the dark and by you of all people,” rasping out his deepest thoughts. “That’s not it and you damn well know that Roy,” he huffed back. “I would have done the same to her, except we all know Riza has a mind of her own and won’t accept ‘no’ for an answer…just like you,” he added with a smirk. They both stood in silence in the empty space of the room, not exactly sure where to go from there. “Sorry,” they both said to each other in unison. The nurse giggled as she wrote some items on her chart while looking at a monitor near the bed. “Mr. Mustang? Mr. Hughes? I have some good news,” she chimed up. Like alert dogs, the men’s eyes widened and both looked at each other with hope. “As much commotion as this has caused, I actually think that Roy’s presence has improved Riza’s condition. Since she has been here, we have monitored her closely. Her breaths are deeper and less shallow and finally stabilizing. Her temperature has also improved,” she encouraged. Like a well-behaved child, Roy proudly boasted to his colleague, “See? How about that?”

 

“Hello? Yes, this is Maes Hughes. I’m speaking on behalf of General Roy Mustang, the next fuhrer. Pardon? Yes, yes. I was calling in regards to imperative business matters. The Fuhrer must take an urgent and personal leave of absence…indefinitely,” Maes Hughes informed HQ through his scratchy phone line. “He is not to be bothered, do you hear me?” Hughes sternly disciplined. “I will be the line of contact for Fuhrer Mustang, and I will relay only what I feel needs to be relayed. Do you understand? Good.” He hung the phone up without a farewell and combed his fingers through his jet black hair, now graying with age. Three days and nights passed, and Roy had loyally stayed at Riza’s bed side constantly. The alchemist only got up to use the restroom, speak to a nurse, or to call headquarters; the man was in no condition to work. “I don’t know if I can stand to see you much more Roy-boy, especially looking like this,” Hughes commented as his large frame leaned on the wall across from Mustang. Maes was blatantly pointing at the wrinkled shirt and uncharacteristic lounge-type pants Roy Mustang had on, though he was also referring to Mustang’s drained physical and mental state. “Well, well, my little secretary,” Roy teased, “I don’t know how much more I can stand of you either.” Hughes played back, “Ah, I’m sorry sir, but I don’t think you can get rid of me so easily.” “I could say the same thing,” his coal eyes frozen on his friend as he smirked and raised one eyebrow. “Oh! I’ve got a surprise for youuuu!” Hughes’ voice jumped up an octave, trying to get Roy interested. “Go home Hughes,” Roy frowned. “Ah, but you’ll like this surprise! I don’t know when it’s supposed to get here though,” he confessed as he threw his arms up dramatically, palms facing the ceiling. “Mhm. Whatever you say,” Roy droned. The alchemist’s tone changed to a serious one, “Maes, really, go home to your family. Spend time with them, because I’ve learned the hard way we don’t have as much time as we think we do.” Hughes weighed his words heavily and nodded in agreement; he approached his friend and put a firm hand on his shoulder. “Alright. But if you need me, I’ll be here. Just call me, ok? I’ll be waiting by the phone,” he chastised. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks.”

The next few days were less eventful, but Roy was appreciative of the quiet. Hughes had brought over some breakfast, military books, a few sketch pads, and pencils for the Fuhrer to distract him. “Roy, you have to dig deep inside and fix those demons of yours. I know they’re in there and you do too. I know you have the strength. And besides, you’ve got a whole gang of friends you can turn to. You’re not alone,” Hughes had said as he parted for home. The heavy door closed with a click, leaving Roy to swim knee deep in his muddled thoughts. As the day passed inch by inch, he grew tired of waiting for any sign of improvement in Riza’s condition. His body too grew impatient, because it was starting to ache excruciatingly from the lack of support the hospital bed provided. One afternoon, Roy was writing some cryptic notes in the sketch pad when he came up with an idea. The hospital room’s phone was lifted from the receiver to contact Maes. “Hughes? It’s Roy. You got a second?”

A few hours later, in strolled Maes Hughes with the assistance of the nurse. He couldn’t open the door alone, for the item he was hauling took both his hands. Hayate was at his ankles, prancing eagerly. “You left me with the dog when you decided to play hero and stay here all the time. So I brought him back,” Maes joked. “And I brought what you asked me to. _More like ordered_ ,” he teased with a smile to the nurse. Since Roy had arrived there, Riza’s collection of flowers had slowly wilted and died, much like that of a human life. “Roy-boy was _so_ insistent on the phone, demanding I order the most beautiful bouquet the florist could make,” Hughes kept on. There was no doubt- the fresh bouquet was flourishing, its colors flowing like an exuberant rainbow. Golds, oranges, pinks, blues, greens, purples, blues, and reds all congregated in a large, clear glass vase held by the military man. Riza’s favorite, tiger lilies, were overflowing in the vase with their bright orange hues. Petite blue hydrangeas poked out around other flowers, while thin, tall green leaves towered over the bouquet. “Thank goodness Gracia didn’t see these! They would have been a goner, Roy. Consider yourself lucky,” he prided as he placed them on the windowsill. Roy provided no praise to his friend, but instead let the silence consume the conversation. “It’s the least I can do for her,” Roy held back tears as he looked out the window. “Thanks for bringing these Hughes. It must have cost you your paycheck,” he joked with a cocky grin. “Oh no, just yours sir. See you later!” he sped out the door, yanking the nurse behind him to avoid any backlash. Roy Mustang remained still in his chair for a few hours, allowing the time to pass at a terribly sluggish pace; without Riza each minute felt like an hour, an hour felt like a day, and a day felt like an eternity. Around late evening, the setting sun peered into the window, flooding parts of the room with an orange and pink glow. The man’s trembling hands interlaced in the woman’s limp fingers. “I miss you. I will wait forever if I have to, but you know I’m not a very patient man,” he confessed. He licked his dry lips, nervous for no reason. Saying nothing else but “Riza”, Roy’s lips met hers, hoping to get any response he could from her. The fact her breathing and temperature were back to normal was a huge leap, but he still felt he could do more. The kiss was as passionate as the man could make it, his thumbs gently stroking her scarred cheeks. The alchemist took his place back in his chair, still holding her pale hand. His stony black eyes gazed into the pink-orange horizon, thinking about how far it spanned; it reminded him of a similar sunset he saw on the night before departing to Ishbal. Being an officer in the military had forced the man to be on edge for everything, so the small rustle behind him caused him to nearly fall out of the uncomfortable chair. Mustang’s eyes darted from the horizon to the figure lying on the bed, his gaze hard and warm. “Riza?” His eyes widened. Her guardian cupped her right hand in his hands and brought his lips to her soft flesh. “Riza, can you hear me? Please let me know you’re still there.” As if she were following orders, Riza Hawkeye’s shining hazel eyes finally appeared from underneath her drowsy eyelids. “Mm,” she hummed, lowering her eyelids again. Her right index finger, now poked out of Roy’s hands, directed at the vase Hughes had brought earlier. “Flowers…beautiful,” she whispered almost so silent that Roy couldn’t understand. The woman was unable to do much more, for her finger retracted back into Roy’s grasp, and her eyes shut once more. “Riza, wait. Please don’t go. Or don’t leave. Just…” tears flowing down his exhausted face while he lowered her hand back onto the bed. The fragile, bruised hand gently squeezed Roy’s in appreciation and acknowledgement; it was all he needed.

 

 

Two weeks later, Riza Hawkeye had yet to interact or respond to any stimulant presented to her; drugs and conversation were no use. The nurse had brought in an additional bed for Fuhrer Mustang because, as hard as the staff and Maes Hughes tried, the man would not budge from his self-appointed post. It was placed in the opposite corner of the room, but the night Roy got the bed from the nurse he pushed it by Hawkeye’s. “Nothing will separate us Riza- not even death,” he would tell her every few days, “But you better not go before I do, damn it. That’s an order. I won’t let you go first.” Each night his fingers stroked her now frail arms, his stone cold eyes always searching for hers in the light that crept among the shadows of night. The next morning, the “present” Maes had up his sleeve finally arrived. With hell at his heels, Edward Elric ran in front of his brother, halting at the door. The young alchemist slammed open the door and nearly broke it off the hinges, his metal automail clanging heavily against the sturdy door handle. “Colonel! Good to see YOU again! How the hell are ya?!” He swiftly closed the space between them and slapped a firm hand on the Fuhrer’s back. Al waved gently from the threshold to his brother’s adversary. “I thought you knew by now, Pipsqueak, but I’m going to be Fuhrer. So unless you want a demotion I’d suggest you mind your manners little boy,” Roy chuckled. “Still the same old hard-ass! AND DON’T CALL ME PIPSQUEAK!” After unleashing his tantrum, he immediately halted and fixed his golden-eyed gaze onto Riza. “Damn, Hughes really wasn’t kidding when he said she still wasn’t doing so well,” Edward whispered, the color in his eyes trembling slightly. “So, where’s Winry? I figured she’d be here with you two,” Roy broke Ed’s train of thought, trying to change the topic away from Hawkeye’s current state. “Well, Al and I just came back from Xerxes for some research and were actually headed home to Resembool. I came alone a few weeks ago to see her...back when you were banned from the hospital because of your temper tantrum," he smirked. He continued after a quick breath, "Hughes caught me before we made it back, and he wanted me to tell Winry, so she will probably be here in a day or so. She hasn't seen Hawkeye yet,” Edward explained. “I see. How did she take the news?” Roy hesitatingly questioned. Al explained, “Mm, well Winry seemed particularly upset when I talked to her on the phone. She said she’d leave on the first train she could get.” “Well, Riza has always spoken so fondly of Winry, so I had a feeling that would be how she took it,” Roy replied with a sincere smile and far-off gaze. “So how are you doing Mustang? I mean, you look pretty…awful,” Edward said, lacking words. “I’m waiting Fullmetal.” His golden eyes narrowed at the remark. “So you’re just gonna ‘wait’ and waste away and in front of everyone’s eyes? Hawkeye wouldn’t want you to be like this. She’d want you to get up and engulf yourself in being Fuhrer, in protecting and working with the people of Amestris to make it a better country. Not sitting here wallowing in pity and staring out the window just hoping for a miracle. You’re a selfish bastard. She didn’t protect you all those years and risk her life just so you could give it all up,” he scoffed. Mustang dropped his head down as if he were a scolded little child. “Are you finished?” his gruff tone didn’t surprise the young alchemist. “Not until you get off your ass and do your job,” he remarked. “Look, we’re heading back to Resembool, but expect to get a similar talk from Winry. She may not be as direct as I’ve been,” Edward spoke with a softer tone. “Seriously, Mustang…take care of yourself,” his hand rested on the Fuhrer’s shoulder. “And besides, if Riza had so much faith in you all this time, you should at least put some faith in her that she’ll come back,” their eyes met. Ed took large strides to reach his brother who had the door opened. “Next time I see you two, it better be at your wedding,” Ed smirked as his newly fleshed hand yanked the door shut with a click. Maes was right in front of the young man, catching him off guard. “Oh. Hughes,” he greeted with his left hand up to wave. “So? What do you think?” “Hughes. He looks like he’s on death’s doorstep, just waiting until Riza is there beside him. I’m honestly not sure I can be of any help,” the alchemist admitted to Hughes. “If we can come up with something, we;ll let you guys know. Just don’t let him slip away,” Edward instructed. “I see. Thanks for coming by Ed, Al. I’ll watch for Winry. I’ll let her know you stopped by. Headed back to Resembool?” The alchemist nodded. “Well you guys don’t be strangers. And thanks for coming by. I’ll walk you out.”

 

A timid and unfamiliar knock came from the door pulling Roy away from his drowsy state. The alchemist’s head rose up from the foot of the hospital bed, his arms numb from the weight of his skull on them. “Yes, come in.” The door squeaked open slowly. “Mr. Mustang?” The light, female voice surprised him; immediately the military man knew whose body the voice belonged to. “Winry, I’m so glad you could come,” his bleak eyes locked on to her strong and forgiving sky blue eyes. He watched her face as she broke her gaze from him to the body lying next to him. Winry Rockbell had entered with a hesitant smile on her face, but it left quickly as she stared fixedly at the person on the bed. The young woman gripped the cotton fabric covering her chest to keep from fainting; her small, tough body began to tremble uncontrollably as an audible gasp slipped from her lips. It took effort, but Mustang managed to lift himself up and steady the mechanic with an embrace. “She’s…oh God. Roy…she…Riza,” a lump in her throat prevented her from saying anything more. Roy held the young woman in his arms, needing the embrace as much as she did; he could feel hot sticky tears pelt his neck. “It’s not fair. How did this happen?” She cried. Roy guided her gently to the chair he had been occupying for weeks and stood before her, explaining briefly. “We were after an escapee alchemist. And well, I asked her to watch my back as I went in after this guy. I ran ahead and went to deal the final blow, but before I could…” he paused, holding back tears. “He used alchemy and a concrete wall shot up between Riza and me. She was about ten feet back and his alchemy must have been a little off, because I think he was aiming for me to get hit by the wall. Instead…” A tear snuck out of his eyes and slipped down his face. “Instead…it hurt her. Why not me? I would have easily switched her places if I knew that was what would happen,” his voice pained with remorse. Miss Rockbell’s shaking hand made a place for itself on Roy’s elbow to stop his fists from clenching any more.The young woman stared into the black puddles of Roy's eyes. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know and neither did she. Riza did what she has always done. She knew the risks. It doesn’t make this any easier, but it’s the only thing I can say,” she sniffed as she tried to stop her tears from falling so quickly. “You’ve always made her so happy. I know so,” Winry admitted. "She didn’t even tell me if she gave you your gift either,” she remembered.“We worked on a gift for you. She had an idea, and we both experimented with different materials and fabrics to make it. Did you get it yet?” She asked the alchemist. Confusion spread across his face, completely unaware of the surprise Winry spoke of. The girl picked up on this and continued, “She told me, ‘I’ll let you know as soon as I give them to him! I’m sure he will be so excited to try them out.’ And I don’t know if you ever received them. I was just happy to help her.” “You know, there was a small package at her house that Hughes said was for me. I wonder if that’s it…” “Square little package wrapped in brown paper?” Roy Mustang nodded childishly. “That IS it!” At that very moment, Hughes flung the door open with a small box in his left hand. “Impeccable timing you have Hughes,” Mustang groaned, his eyes squinting at his subordinate in frustration. An unfamiliar nurse came behind him clearly upset. “Seriously, how many times must we tell you all to stop all this commotion?! It does not help Miss Hawkeye heal!!” Hughes managed to sweet talk the woman into leaving and plopped the package down in Roy’s large hands. “I sure am nice to you Roy, aren’t I? First I brought you Ed and now this! I need a raise,” Hughes insisted. “Of course you do,” Roy jousted back as he turned and yanked the package out of the man’s hands. Winry eyed the box, knowing what was wrapped inside. “Open it. I know she would want you to. It meant a great deal to her.” Hughes slipped out silently to give the three some privacy. “Mr. Hughes… I don’t know whether to speak to you or Mr. Mustang about this. Since Miss Hawkeye doesn’t have any living family, I need to speak to someone about her condition,” the nurse surprised Maes as he turned away from the threshold. “Depends. What’s wrong?” A sinister aura of darkness loomed in the air above the two. "If she remains in this condition for about another week, I'm afraid that she should probably be taken off her moniters and have a calm, quiet passing," the nurse grimly spoke. We need someone to sign off on this, and I didn't know whether to speak to you or Mr. Mustang." "Don't tell Mustang," he harshly instructed. "Give it just a little longer miss," he pleaded.

Peeling back the crisp brown paper, Roy felt uneasy opening something without Riza’s explicit permission. “So, how is she doing? I mean, any sign of her coming to?” Winry asked as he pulled apart the grey box that held his gift; he paused and tried to word his thoughts properly. “About three weeks ago…she opened her eyes. I got her a bouquet of flowers, and she told me they were beautiful. Then she closed her eyes again and squeezed my hand. There’s been nothing since. She’s still breathing normally, but that’s it.” He wouldn’t delve into his feelings to Winry, as much as Riza trusted her. The deepened blue puddles of Winry’s eyes shifted out the window looking for an escape or answer. “It can’t be,” she whispered to the window. Roy Mustang nervously lifted up a new pair of icy white gloves; they were clearly made of a different material than his normal gloves. “They’re….” he choked out. The mechanic instantly spoke up and made eye contact with the man. “They’re water resistant gloves. Riza and I worked for weeks to get them just right. We found this brand new, imported plastic-infused cotton material that has a soft feeling on your hands but repels water. She said in case she wasn’t with you on rainy days, you could use these.” His rough, calloused hands stroked the fabric gloves with anger and loneliness. “May I have a few moments with her?” Winry asked. The man nodded and noiselessly shut the door, his entire body sliding down to the floor with his hands over his face; his gloves did their job to not absorb his tears. “Riza, it’s Winry. Roy’s been here for weeks and he’s so tired. You need to come back to us so you two can hurry up and be together.” The heartbroken mechanic took her friend’s hand. “You always swore he didn’t have feelings for you. I know he loves you. I can see it written clear across his face. He’s going to be Fuhrer, so you know that now he can do whatever he wants. I better get to be a bridesmaid,” a smile cracked across her face, tears falling like rain down her delicate chin. Roy’s head fell so his eyes could burn a hole into the white tile beneath him. “Please wake up. I can’t stand not having my best friend to talk to,” Winry confessed. “I’ll see you later Riza,” she rose from the chair and went to bid Roy Mustang farewell. Once the young girl disappeared, Roy bent his body back over the bed. “You have to hurry up and come back. You’ve got so many people waiting for you,” he pleaded. “I love you Riza Hakweye, and after the ceremony for Fuhrer I will soon take your hand in marriage, and with the gloves you and Winry made me. You know...I've always thought you'd be a lovely bride.”

After two hours of silence, Roy’s body lurched up when it felt silky flesh brush the hand attached to his arm. The man’s heart, full of soot and ash, leapt at the sight before him; Riza’s refreshing hazel eyes were gazing down at their intertwined hands, large, salty tears spilling onto her pastel green hospital gown. She looked to be in great pain. “Riza? Riza? Am I dreaming, or are you awake?” His stone cold eyes couldn’t wander from her face. The alchemist could see from the look on her, the woman was trying to form words.”Riza, can you speak? Don’t strain yourself.” Her eyes groggily met her superior’s, still drowsy from the prolonged sleep. He decided to talk so she could ease into speaking. “You know, I have to tell you something. For the past few weeks... whenever I was trapped in the shadows, there were hands that would hold me. At first I thought I was crazy, but then I came to the conclusion they were your hands. They saved me. You saved me. I’m certain they were yours, because I stopped feeling them after you woke up to see the flowers.” An intense stare came from the golden eyes; surprise and understanding fell across her face. “I’m in the hospital, aren’t I?” She asked as her other hand grasped the gown's fabric hanging on her shoulder. “That’s right…I remember now,” she whispered with difficulty. “Riza, take your time. You don’t have to talk. I’m just happy you’re awake again,” the man confessed, his eyes flickering wildly. “I feel partially responsible for this,” Riza confessed, tears beginning to form in the corners of her perfectly rounded eyes. “I wasn’t observant enough that day. And to think you’ve been here for weeks... I’m sure, because I’ve felt your presence all this time,” she paused, trying to limit her exertion. “I love you too, Roy Mustang,” she paused again and continued, “I am so sorry sir. I can’t imagine how exhausted you are. Please, go home and sleep.” Her superior couldn’t process her words quickly, for he sat beside her in silence, his hand tenderly holding his love’s. Brazenly, his words exploded from his mouth, “I’m not leaving here until you do. And you’re coming home with me, or I’m going home with you. That’s an order Riza.” He slipped, realizing his informality, but was too excited to care. The sound of her name coming from his strong voice and soft lips made the woman’s eyes shimmer in the shadows. “Only if I get breakfast in bed everyday my dear Roy,” she joked with a loving smile that shone brightly.


End file.
